


Loving Medusa

by belovedbright



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Multiple Selves, Redemption, Self-Harm, Solitary Confinement, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedbright/pseuds/belovedbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki expected scorn and punishment when he was brought back to Asgard.  Under the strain of the suppression of his magic and solitary confinement, his own demons begin to talk back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving Medusa

 At first, there were frequent visitors to Loki's cell. _The monster caged and on display,_ he thought to himself. _They see me as the toothless lion, when I should be a king._ Some of the warriors of the court openly mocked him, he who had always been deemed “inferior” by a warrior's standards. Sif simply stared at him, her eyes shifting between cold fury and pity, until he threw himself forward screaming at her. “Do you regret bedding this monster now? Do Thor and the other warriors know how you writhed beneath me, calling my name...” He couldn't tell you all of what he said to her. Only that when her eyes widened and she recoiled, his voice failed him as he remembered the way Natasha had used even that against him.

At first Thor came every day. He would talk of Midgard, of his parents. He would ask Loki how he fared. Each day Loki tried to find new ways to insult and hurt him. Each day Thor would reign in his temper and say “Perhaps you will be in a better mood tomorrow brother” before leaving. Finally Loki had thrown himself at the barrier, allowing his Jotun form to show.

 _“_ I am _not_ your brother. Look at me. This is not your brother!” he'd screamed, his voice strange and harsh to his own ears. He'd continued screaming long after Thor had left. At some point, he knew not when, he realized his voice and form had slipped back into that of Asgard.

Only the All-father never came to him, though he sometimes thought heard the whisper of wings outside and wondered if Huginn or Muninn hid in the shadows. Eventually the visitors stopped. Perhaps they were forbidden. Perhaps no one wishes to see him anymore. _Who really wants to be alone with the lie-smith?_ he said after the first week or so of solitude. Then there was nothing but the barren whiteness of the room and time. Yet, even when alone in his cell, Loki wore his false face. _The mask of Asgard,_ he sneered.

One night, he dreamt of falling from the bifrost. _Falling, falling forever and ever in between all the nine worlds and beyond. Even the Jotuns do not know such cold. Falling and falling, my heart pounding and screaming until I have no voice left. And still I'm falling._

He'd snapped awake then, and shrieked at the frost giant standing before the barrier. He tumbled off the bed in surprise before realizing that it was his own reflection, having shifted to his Jotun form in the memory of the cold. A keening cry left him, ugly to his ears.

“I could have killed you all,” Loki said to his reflection. “I could have wiped your hideous, terrible race from Yggdrasil.” He paused, raising up an arm and running one sharp nail along it. “There is little wonder that I am cold. I was born in the cold, left to die in the cold. I am colder than you will ever understand.” Red eyes met his reflection. “I wonder what colour your blood truly is.” His reflection did not protest, as his nails opened rivulets across his arm.

When he woke in the morning, the mask was in place. There was no sign of the jagged truth he'd inscribed on his skin. Even the blood had been cleaned away, leaving only the sterile, gleaming white. Only a tender ache across his arms told him it was no dream. _Frigga?_ he wondered, hating the longing ache for his false mother.

He did it again the next night – talked to that foreign face while opening his skin. And the one after that. Again and again. He would always fall asleep eventually, listening to the monster cry. Sometimes Loki woke not having remembered falling asleep. He wondered then if they laid a sleep spell upon him when he did too much damage to himself. Food and healing came only while he slept. The rest was solitude.

One night as he sat leaning against the wall, letting the blood flow down from the ragged tears across his chest, he wondered again whether Frigga was coming while he slept to heal him. _Does it hurt her? Do I want it to? Or do it in hope that I might just once remember that she has been here? So childish. Sentimental. I would tear that love from out my skin if I could, just as I would peel this face away until it was gone._

 

Hela appeared out of the shadows beyond the barrier. Her dark hair poured down around her shoulders over her cloak. Loki could not remember how long it had been since he saw another person.

 _“_ Has Odin sent you here to kill me Hela?” Loki asked

“The All-father forbids any visit with the maker of mischief,” she replied, a small smile at the corner of her lips. “But how could I not come to my maligned _father_ ” – her voice rose in knife-sharp, sweet sarcasm – “suffering in his cage?” She ran a hand along the magic-protected glass.

“Do you come to free me then Hela? Risk the wrath of all the Aesir? Spit in Odin's one good eye?” he asked.

She laughed then, a sound like a tuneless bronze bell – hollow and subtly wrong. “I will answer that, if you will answer another question.”

Loki briefly raised an eyebrow, then waited, willing himself to stillness. Holding a perfect mask. Hela leaned forward, her own green eyes wide and more than a little mad. “Am I your daughter?”

A bitter giggle escaped from Loki then. “Do you expect truth from the lie-smith, Hela? Tell me, would the All-father be your grandfather? Or would Laufey? Does it matter to you from whose quim I crawled?” He leaned face to face with her, his eyes earnest.

“No. What do I care of the Aesir or the Jotuns?” she sneered even as she leaned in closer still.

“Then why do you care whether my seed filled your vile mother's quim?” _There_ , he thought as he saw her flinch. “Oh? Did you think I might be kinder to my own child?”

Her own mask reasserted itself. _Good girl,_ he thought despite himself. _Nothing in the nine worlds will ever be kind to either of us._

“Perhaps I only wished to know whether such propensity for failure runs in my own blood, Loki. I have plans of my own. As for today, I think I only wish to remember you as you are.” Her eyes missed nothing as she looked him over. She turned from the glass. “Goodbye father. Perhaps you will join me in Hel one of these days. I would say it's lovely this time of year, but I would be lying.” With that she vanished into the shadows again. After a moment, Loki heard the brief flutter of a raven. Then, once more, all was silent and white with only the monster for company.

 

Food came and went silently and without his witnessing it. His wounds were healed in his sleep. His world was silent and white, until one day the monster began to talk back.

“Sad, puny godling,” he said. His voice was deeper than Loki's but carried the same malicious sarcasm. Loki looked up sharply, realizing that the monster was reflection no more, but seemed to sit on the floor across from him.

“You are but a sad figment,” Loki replied. “Brought on by the All-father perhaps, or even a dream.” Loki's head began to ache, even as he said it.

The monster laughed. “I, the sad figment? I see the fear in your eyes Laufeyson. We know one another too well for that. The lie-smith cannot long lie to himself.”

“If I cannot convince you to leave me be, I shall have to simply ignore your presence,” Loki replied with as much composure as he could manage. His head felt as if it was splitting. He rose to cross to his bed, only to have the other grab his wrist.

“You cannot ignore me, Loki. You cannot drive me out. It's _this_ skin that is the false skin,” the monster said, raising a nail to split open Loki's arm. His skin did not change as it had with a true frost giant. Instead it remained pale pink, even as he felt it splitting open. A wave of nausea swept over Loki, felling him to his knees.

“You are not real. This cannot be real,” he gasped. The monster responded by grabbing his chin, lifting him and pushing him against the wall.

“I am what is real, Loki. Haven't you been saying that this face,” he squeezed until Loki whimpered, “is a lie? Haven't you told all and sundry that you are not of the Aesir?” Loki pushed in vain against the other, his hands struggling against the giant. “Why should I not peel back your face to show the truth?”

The Other's fingernail's bit into the skin near Loki's ear. “What are you, Loki? Are you the monster? Or are you the royal son? And do you really think either of them would want you now?”

“I don't know,” Loki shrieked as the other peeled ragged strips of skin from his left cheek. The pain and nausea was unbearable. Then there was darkness.

 

Loki woke some time later. He raised a hand tentatively to his left cheek to find the skin smooth and unblemished. Just raising his arm had been exhausting, but at least the headache and nausea had abated. He'd also been moved into his bed. He looked around the room. Two plates had appeared while he was unconscious. One was filled with meat, cheese, and fruits. The second had only a perfect slice of golden apple upon it. Loki stood and crossed the room on shaking legs. His stomach rolled at the smell of food, but he picked up Idunn's apple all the same. He closed his eyes as he ate it in small bites, savoring the subtly spicy, sweet flavor as his strength returned to him.

When he opened his eyes, Frigga was standing beyond the glass. “A gift from you, I presume?” he asked her, still too tired to be cutting.

“You hurt yourself deeply,” she said quietly, putting a hand tentatively to the glass.

 _She looks sadder, older,_ he found himself thinking. “It is not the first time,” he replied, closing his eyes and leaning back against the bed.

“It is the first time you've hurt your _mind_ , Loki. You should not have been able to use any magic within here, particularly not such a strong illusion. It could have killed you to do so. You will not be able to do so again.” Her voice was soft and sad. Loki winced before opening his eyes.

“I would think you would hope for your false son to lose his mind --” His voice died in his throat. The monster was curled up in the far corner of the room.

Frigga seemed to take his lose of voice as born of sorrow. “You are not my false son. You are always my son, no matter how you rail against it.”

All malice bled from Loki's face. “If you are my mother, then do not leave me here...” His eyes flicked to the other sitting in the corner. It had started to _smile_ at him. “Please...” As much as he hated that he was pleading, it was better than being left with _that_.

Frigga's brow creased as she contemplated her son in the cell, but clearly she saw nothing else within. “I cannot disobey Odin's will. I cannot remove you from this place, but I will stay for a while.” She sat on the floor by the glass. For a brief, longing moment, Loki wanted nothing more than to curl in her lap as he had as a boy, comforted by the smell of apples and meadowsweet that always surrounded her.

Instead he watched as the monster crept forward, through the glass to curl in Frigga's lap, bearing its teeth as it ran its nails down her neck. “You despise her, don't you? Would you not tear her throat open?”

“Go away,” he whispered. Frigga blinked in surprise.

“How many ways can you think of to hurt her?” the other asked as it encircled her throat with its hand, rubbing a thumb gently along one side. “I'm sure I can come up with one or two more.”

“Go Away!” Loki snarled. Frigga stood, then turned away. The other stayed on the floor, staring at Loki.

“I will come back another time,” Frigga said, her voice jagged.

When she had gone, the Other crept back to Loki, wrapping its arms around him as Loki cried. “It's too late for that,” it whispered. “Too late for Loki to be Odin's son. You will always be the monster.”

 

“Look at me.”

Loki shook his head. He was exhausted from barely eating and a week of nightmares. Falling from the bifrost. The Other. The Chitauri swarming through New York. Thanos. All of them had started to bleed together in his dreams, the Chitauri swarming over him, tearing him to pieces. Thanos and the Other vivisecting him. Always, always falling.

“Look at _me,”_ the Other insisted quietly. Loki raised his eyes only. The monster's face was soft, almost gentle. “This is who you are. Don't you wonder who you might have been?”

Loki stood carefully. “Might have been? An infant left to die in the cold? Not much story there.” His head began to ache, but he felt sharper than he had in days.

The monster smiled and stood. “There I am,” he rumbled. Loki stretched blue arms out in front of him. “All that's left is this.” The monster's voice had changed. Loki looked up to see himself, pale-skinned and green-eyed. “All that's left is to kill what's left of Asgard.”

“No,” Loki said, reeling back. He stumbled onto the mattress, hating the voice he heard from himself.

The Other leaned forward, his eyebrows raised. “Come lie-smith. Do you have the stomach for it? Asgard shuns you. Why should you hold them in any regard?” The Other tilted his head up, exposing his neck. “You can make it as quick as you like. Or you can draw it out. Let Frigga watch you finish destroying her son.”

Loki shook his aching head. Once more the queasiness came. _This is killing me. I'm killing myself. No matter what I do, I'm killing myself._ He reached up, his hand trembling as he brought sharp nails to the Other's throat.

“Loki.” Loki paused, then turned to look beyond the monster. “You are not real,” Loki said. He blinked and realized that the Other was gone. His headache was receding slightly and the blue was fading from his hands.

His brother stood inside the glass, tall and rigid as ever, his face lined with concern. “Does that matter?”

“It's bad enough for you to have ruined my life, I do not need you in my head besides,” Loki spat, but it was reflexive more than malicious. Loki stared at the floor between his feet.

“Our father was wrong,” the illusion Thor said. He knelt before Loki. “All-seeing Odin failed you. He should have told you from whence you came.”

“Shut your damnable mouth.”

Thor leaned in closer. “Why did you let go of my hand on the bifrost?”

“Because you are an insufferable oaf.” Loki swayed. He swore he felt it as the illusion sat beside him, swore he felt the heat radiating from his brother.

“Is that why you allied with the chitauri? As a way to hurt me?”

“I needed some way off that barren rock. Means to an end brother. Hurting you was only a convenient side effect.” Loki turned away, one fist gripping the blanket so hard his knuckles were white.

“We do not always need to be like this. Think of the allies we could be. The life we could have,” Thor continued softly.

Loki pushed up crossing the room in a few short paces. He shut his eyes against the sight of Thor. “It is too late for that,” he said, his voice cracking.

“It is never too late. You cannot escape me, brother. Even if you walk away, I will always be here,” Thor said. But the voice grew quiet all the same.

 

The Other and the false Thor rarely left him alone, though neither became physical again. Each day they argued with him and with each other. The Other drove him to self-injury. Thor tried to appeal to his nobility and potential. Even his sleep was only rarely a respite from the splitting of his nature.

Finally, one night Loki woke to a tapping sound. There was almost no light in the room or the corridor outside of it. “Wake up Odinson,” a voice said from beyond the barrier. It was harsh and deep, but not The Other.

 _What now?_ he thought, but instinct drove him to remain still.

There was a hiss of breath. “Your breathing changed. I know you're awake.”

 _Well, it cannot be out of my own head. I would know that I was awake._ As Loki's eyes adjusted in the dark, he could make out two shapes. _No. One's not real._ Beyond the barrier was a huge, distorted figure. Loki's breath caught for a moment. _It's him. Oh god, Thor brought him here to kill me._ Then the head shifted, and Loki caught a flash of red eyes rather than the green he'd anticipated.

“Who are you?” he asked, sitting up in the dark.

“You may call me Hati. At least for what time you have remaining.” The Jotun raised his hand to lower the barrier. Gooseflesh broke out over Loki's skin at the calmness of the giant's tone. The second figure that had been crouched on the floor stood, shoulders broad and fist clenched. Loki's head began to ache.

“You could not enter here without Odin being alerted to it. You should leave while you still can,” Loki said, managing to keep his voice steady and commanding.

The Jotun laughed, deep and low. Loki blinked and realized he could see a third figure, huddled on the floor. The low chuckling of the other joined the Jotun's voice in his ears, though the Jotun did not respond to it.

“Was it not you who showed us the shadow path to breech here? Did you think we had forgotten? Did you think you would be safe from us in your prison? You who killed us by the thousands.” The glass slid back, and the Jotun stepped in. Loki's head began to pound.

“Why not let him kill you?” the Other asked. “You belong nowhere. It is a kindness to you. Certainly it is a kindness to the rest of the nine worlds.”

“No,” Loki gasped, pressing himself back against the wall. He began to feel dizzy. The Jotun smiled as he stepped forward in the dim.

“You can chose another way brother. You are not so weak as this. It is not too late. You can chose who you want to be,” Thor said.

Rage swept through Loki. Rage at being abandoned, at being lied to, at never living up to the golden child, at the unraveling of his mind, at ever, ever being weak. At the same time, his headache grew so fierce he screamed.

“I am Loki of Asgard,” he yelled. “I will not fall before you.”

The Jotun startled backwards as the projected Thor appeared before him. Hati reached out and grappled with the illusion, who tried to push him backwards. They struggled in the dark, crashing against the walls. Finally Hati broke an arm free of the illusion's grasp. Loki watched through pain-slitted eyes as Hati reached up and broke Thor's neck. The illusion's arms fell to its sides. Hati ran his claws through it, blood fell from Thor's body but disappeared before it hit the floor. Hati dropped the body to the group, where pulled into tattered edges and began to fade. Loki realized he was screaming, reaching out to the illusion of his brother as he died. His throat was raw, tears filled his eyes, and he felt so very weak. Hati was laughing.

“Hati,” said a low voice filled with mirth, “You haven't dealt with _me_ yet.” There was a blur as the Other slammed into Hati from the side, trying to claw into his neck. Hati howled, grabbed the Other by the wrist, and tried to throw him away. The Other clawed in, using the momentum to open ragged gashes in Hati's arm.

Hati grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. The Other laughed, “I don't have to _win,_ I just have to wait.” Hati grabbed his face with his other hand, pressing him against the wall. The Other's giggles could be heard for just a moment more, as it opened up Hati's other arm. Then with a roar, Hati ripped his throat out. He threw the Other to the ground where it too began to fade away.

Hati turned back to Loki, who lay gasping on the mattress, one hand to his head. “Now we can

finish our business, lie-smith.”

As Hati reached down towards him, Loki could do nothing to protect himself. He closed his eyes. _I am sorry brother. I am not worthy of Asgard._

There was a brilliant flash that made him wince despite his closed eyes, followed by a deafening crash. Loki whimpered in pain, but the hands that fell on him were large and gentle. Then he remembered nothing.

 

Loki suspected that he had slept for a very, very long time after that night. He woke with the juice of Idunn's apples still lingering in his mouth. It didn't surprise him that he was suspected of somehow collaborating with Hati in hopes of escaping. What did surprise him was the quiet in his mind. Neither the illusion Thor, nor the Other came to speak with him. He felt different somehow. Both sharpened and cleansed.

What surprised him most was the day Thor came to him, seeking help against the svartálfar. When Thor finished Loki said, “You must be truly desperate to come to me for help.”

“You should know: when you betray me, I will kill you,” Thor said, his voice steel-hard.

 _It is not too late_ , a voice whispered at the back of his head.

“When do we start?” Loki replied, mischief and hope warring within him.   

**Author's Note:**

> This fic did not go entirely as I planned. I'd envisioned a more obvious turn in Loki's mind. That said, I think this is probably more true to the character. 
> 
> The general inspiration for this fic comes from two major things. Firstly, I'd read about the conflict, self-loathing, and anger that aboriginal children grew to have, after being forcible removed and raised in European families. This happened among Native American children as well, particularly in Canada. To characterize Loki as simply "adopted" ignores the complexity of being raised to hate and fear your own origins. 
> 
> The second thing was research into solitary confinement. New studies are showing that solitary confinement will actually cause mental illness in previously healthy inmates. Side effects include hallucinations, depression, etc. I took this a step further, since Loki would normally have the ability to make what he thinks manifest. So the hallucinations become illusions, then solid.
> 
> Also "Hati" means "he who hates" or "enemy." In the mythology, Hati was a frost giant with a wolf form. I suspect "Hati" is borrowing the name himself.


End file.
